Champagne
by lovestorywithatwist
Summary: John leaves Dean to travel by himself while he goes to investigate a new creature, and Dean meets someone that will change his life forever. Partial AU, in which hunters don't know about demons or angels.
1. Prologue

_Castiel loves the feeling of falling – the wind, moving past him so quickly it is impossible to hear more than silence; the anticipation of impact, setting every one of his nerves taut with fear; the overwhelming pressure against his chest, constricting every breath he manages to gasp in; and the strain on his wings as he pulls away from gravity, avoiding death by a whisper. The copper taste of anxiety and euphoria is enough to send him spiraling down again and again, each time coming closer to the force that could kill even a being such as him. However, Castiel can't remember a time he was ever truly afraid of falling._

_Not until now. Not until he became helpless, a piece of driftwood being thrown back and forth against the merciless, gusty rocks of the air. His tattered wings that used to catch the wind are snapped back by it now, bullied into such a submission that it is impossible to imagine that once they had fought against the fierce currents. They will not beat for Castiel, not work as his heart does now, thumping painfully through his chest with such a force he wonders if it will burst before he hits the ground._

_For a second he hopes it will be a quick death – at least, until it is upon him and there is nothing left except the raw instinct to try and survive. Every last fibre of his body fights to control the useless, strained muscles along his back, and yet they still refuse to obey. Moments later a jarring impact wipes the breath from his body and leaves the angel lying broken in a field, completely torn from everything he used to be._

* * *

"Cassy, you must try my ale. It's truly brilliant. Human devices are rather easy to manipulate."

Gabriel's voice echoed from the hallway leading into Castiel's dark room. He barely shifted, staring at the floor without seeing anything. The shock of the punishment still plagued him, refusing to let him believe they had been cast down from heaven. The thought was too much for him to bear – the weight of his sins, crippling to dwell on. Why hadn't he fought harder? Died, rather than let _this _happen? It was his fault. All his fault.

"Cassy. Castiel."

The voice was closer this time. Castiel slowly lifted his head to see his brother's silhouette against his dark door frame. The light from the hallway cast darkness over the other angel's face and created a halo of light around him, as if he still held some sort of a heavenly power. It made Castiel's chest ache more.

"You can't hide in here the whole time," his brother chided, sauntering over to the small desk next to Castiel's bed. There was nothing on it, though Gabriel spent a minute supposedly examining the wood. "You know it wasn't your fault anyways."

"It must be my fault. I should have been stronger." The words were bitter.

There was a moment of silence as Gabriel turned back to him, a sad glaze settling over his eyes. The light from the doorway illuminated his features and revealed the ghost of a wing splattered black against the back of the room, a mere shadow of what it used to be.

"Champagne," Gabriel finally said, as if he had made a decision. "We need some champagne."

With a wave of his hand a bottle materialized and quickly filled with sparkling liquid. Two shot glasses appeared as well, clinking lightly together and glinting in the light. They hovered in front of the older angel as he poured the bubbling, brilliantly gold liquid into them. Castiel watched in silence, pursing his lips slightly.

"How can you be so careless? You were thrown down too, Gabriel."

His brother tensed slightly but continued pouring. Once he finished, a glass floated to Castiel's hand, bumping him insistently until his delicate fingers closed around it.

"I've learned that moping, Cassy," Gabriel sighed, raising the glass, "Really doesn't do any good. I see this as a vacation."

He tipped back his head and swallowed the champagne quickly, closing his eyes and savouring the taste for a time. "Mm, yes, this is perfect…"

"Vacation? We are banned from our home. We are expected to live as humans for decades!" Castiel's voice rose and he followed it, stiffly moving to his feet. Every muscle on his back was rigid with grief and anger at himself and Gabriel and all the angels who had cast them aside so carelessly. Pins stabbed at his heart thinking of it.

"Drink," Gabriel commanded, raising his voice as well, though not offering any words of comfort or agreement. Castiel threw back the champagne angrily, more desperate to yell at Gabriel than to feel the buzz of the drink. It bubbled all down his throat, igniting a path within him while he thought of a way to convince Gabriel that he can't simply pretend to be a mortal. That he can't abandon his duties as an angel.

However, before Castiel got a chance to say anything, Gabriel flitted over and squeezed his shoulder.

"Brother. If the fault is to rest on anyone, it is to rest on me," he said solemnly, letting the weight of his guilt briefly show through his eyes. Castiel clenched his jaw, a part of him desperate to believe that, but a larger one wishing to argue. Gabriel continued, "Besides, you must understand why we were put on Earth?"

"To pay for our sins," Castiel answerd immediately, his voice sounding alien and void of emotion even to him.

"Dear, dear Cassy, we are being given a chance to redeem ourselves," Gabriel explained patiently as the sides of his mouth quirk up into a smile.

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked sharply, staring into his brothers eyes. They lit up with a sort of excitement, flashing for a second in the darkness. It is a light he knew well – one that often preceded a brilliant plan, ending with one or both of them nearly dying.

"All we've got to do is get rid of the little problem we let out."

Castiel stared at Gabriel in disbelief. If they could not fight Him even _with_ their powers, how was it possible now in such a weakened state? They would die before they managed to deal out more than a scratch. Then again, perhaps that is what the other angels want… For them both to suffer and die.

"Oh come on Cassy, it isn't too difficult, we can manage-," Gabriel started, but Castiel kicked the frame of the bed, effectively cutting his brother off as the loud bang rang through the air. Perhaps he was being childish, but he couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment.

"Would you stop calling me that?" he hissed through clenched teeth, referring to the nickname both Gabriel and his other brother, Balthazar, seem to enjoy calling him. Castiel really didn't mind too much, but the other issue that rested on his mind was more difficult to deal with and he still felt as if he had to rid himself of all this anger. Yelling at his brother for something controllable, easy and fixable – compared to the chaos of the other much larger problem – felt good.

"We can do it,_ Castiel_," Gabriel put emphasis on his name, though his mocking tone was only half-hearted. "We can set the trap this time. We'll have the upper hand."

"How will we even find him, Gabe?" Castiel whispered, the anger slowly draining from him to be replaced by hopelessness. His chest felt as if it would burst from the different emotions flitting through it, but at the moment they were dulled by exhaustion. It was then that everything truly hit him and Castiel suddenly realized just how alone the two of them were. They had nothing left – they meant nothing to heaven, or to their father, anymore.

It was enough to rip the emotion right out of him. Enough to leave Castiel as an empty shell for a long, long time. And for centuries, nothing Gabriel said could ever truly bring back the younger, innocent version of his brother that used to love diving off clouds. That is, not until the Winchester boy walked into his club.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer – I don't own any of the characters, nor do I profit from this writing. It's purely for my own and other's enjoyment.**_

**Author's Note: **This is my first attempt at a destiel fic. A song inspired it, though I've been planning on writing one for awhile now. I hope you all enjoy it, and I'd really appreciate any form of feedback – what's good, what I should improve on, anything. Thank you!

* * *

The immediate scent of alcohol and sweat swept through Dean's nose as he pushed his way into the club. Music pounded through his body, the bass drowning out all other sounds. The usual energy of the club seemed intensified in here. A euphoric high seeped into his limbs only seconds after he stepped over the threshold.

_Movement. Unison._ The people seemed united, twined around each other into a school of people, moving and reacting with one another as the music compelled them to dance. It was terrifying and incredible, tinted with a hint of something he couldn't place. Dean nearly got swept up into the high of the feeling before he remembered why he had been sent there in the first place – vamps.

He'd been on his way to check out a ghost thing when Bobby called. Apparently there had been seven murders in a town he was passing, all containing the marks of a vampire's killings. Bobby figured there must be a nest around with the amount of people dropping dead. So of course he popped in to see what sort of hell he could stir up.

Sobering slightly at that thought, Dean squinted through the average, brightly lit black room, unable to see much while he was still near the entrance. He'd been in enough clubs to be fairly used to the busy, crowded jabs at his senses, but for some reason this club seemed to be twice as hard to concentrate in. The atmosphere drew him in, reeled him steadily towards the bar and dancers. Dean tried to push the feeling away – he was on a _job_ – but eventually it won out and he decided he could treat himself to at least one drink before chopping up some blood suckers.

Dean made his way through the tight throng of moving bodies until he arrived at a black marble-top bar table and sat down in one of the equally black velvet stools. He glanced around, a part of him (that sounded suspiciously like Sam) saying that he shouldn't be having any drinks, but a larger part thinking, _what the hell, what else would I do in a club? Might as well fit in._

The bartender took a minute to notice him, as he was doing something that looked suspiciously like popping brightly covered candies into his mouth, but eventually the man noticed Dean and turned to him with a grin.

"What can I get ya?"

Dean glanced up at the man, taking in his features pretty quickly. He was immediately reminded of a fox by the slightly squinted eyes and long face, emphasizing a false innocence. He also had a scruffy chin and perfectly arranged hair, slicked back into a sideways swoop with what looked like no hair product. There was also something else about his eyes – they seemed to hold a dark, intelligent light that put Dean's guard up.

It'd been awhile since he'd been on a hunt by himself. Usually John was there with him, ready to back him up if anything snuck up behind him or he wasn't fast enough. But a few weeks ago his father left, claiming to look into a creature that he couldn't explain. Dean had wanted to go with him, but his father insisted he continue hunting monsters. It had hurt him slightly, but Dean made it a goal not to let anything get to him. The principles of a hunter had been drilled so tightly into his head that he found it hard to think of disobeying his father, or even questioning him. It wasn't until John left, and then rarely contacted him, that Dean wished he had been firmer.

"Don't know what you feel like? How about a nice glass of champagne?"

Dean blinked a few times, dragging his concentration from his thoughts back to the bartender. What if this was the vamp? He didn't really seem like the blood sucking type, but then again, which vamps ever did? On the other hand…

"Champagne? I was kinda hoping for something stronger," Dean smiled tightly back, trying to look a little less like he was examining the bar tender and more like he just needed a drink. Not that he _didn't _need a drink.

"One sip of this and you'll feel heavenly," the bar tender winked, not bothering to wait for a reply before pulling out a glass and a golden bottle that contained equally gold liquid. The drink smelled ethereal even from Dean's spot a foot away, the brilliant ester pooling in his senses just as the drink glided down into the glass.

A large part of him suddenly wished he had ordered a whole bottle of that champagne. Only the tiniest bit of his mind was uneasy about the drink, but the second it was placed under his nose, Dean found it impossible to resist picking up the glass and taking a sip.

And damn if he'd ever tasted something that good.

All of his senses burned brighter as a warm, bubbling heat trailed down through his body. The music pounded more clearly in his head and lights sparkled brighter, intensifying the high of the club to near impossible heights. Dean found himself suddenly needing to be part of the dancing, part of the movement of the club.

"Good, right? Tell you what, that glass is on me," the bartender grinned, and if Dean was in any right state of mind he would have noticed how pleased the guy looked with himself.

"Thanks," he muttered, standing dazedly and drifting towards the music. Suddenly vampires didn't seem quite so important.

It seemed, within a span of twenty or thirty minutes, that Dean had danced with nearly everyone in the club. There were next to no boundaries here, not in the heat of the crowd and the buzz of the alcohol. One tiny glass of champagne couldn't possibly make anyone feel this good or last this long, and yet Dean found himself feeling better than ever, emotionally soaring above all the shit he'd been going through lately. For the first time in months he wasn't agitated or angry or upset. Sure he'd gotten more drunk than he'd like to admit a few times and forgotten all the problems, but not once had he ever felt OK with them like he did now.

It seemed that so far going to the club had been the most relaxing thing he'd done in a long time.

A tiny part of Dean knew that the remarkable feelings would subside soon and he would crash, but he really didn't care at the moment. A blonde girl twisted her way around him, running thin fingers along his back and shoulders, then moved alongside him to the rhythm of the music. Dean was completely enraptured, caught up in the moments with the other people dancing around him, though he wasn't precisely attracted to the girl.

It didn't really matter at the moment, though. A werewolf could have grinded up against him and he still would have continued dancing, just to keep his head in the beautiful space it had come to.

It could have been mere minutes or maybe hours later when something caught Dean's eye that made him stop dead. The people nearby didn't seem to notice and continued moving with the bass of the music, but he found himself frozen completely to the spot. He didn't know if it was the way the lights had hit the man, or maybe it was just the high of the club finally getting to his head, but he could have sworn for a second he saw an angel.

Dark, unruly black hair splayed across the man's forehead, which was creased in thought. Defined features leaped out at Dean, especially the hollowed cheeks and lined jaw, covered in dark stubble. The man wore a simple, white, button-up shirt and black pants, draped over with a long beige trench coat. But the most intense, most beautiful part of the man was his piercing eyes, so shockingly blue and weighed by a thousand dark secrets. They chilled Dean to the bone because he had only ever seen eyes like that in his own reflection, and even his did not hold the shattering depth of these.

For a second, behind this man, Dean could have also sworn he saw the outline of two huge wings.

But right after Dean saw him the man turned and disappeared from the crowd, melting away in the split second the spot he had been standing in turned dark. It took a few more seconds for Dean to realize he was holding his breath, completely and utterly in shock from the surprise of seeing the figure.

Without wasting another moment, Dean was shoving his way through the thick crowd of bodies in a frantic attempt to find the man that had slipped through the darkness so quickly it felt as if he had dreamed him up. The shock of the man had sent him spiraling back to Earth, back to the familiar feeling of weight pulling his shoulders down and the responsibility of a million people's lives straining against him. For the second time that night his breath was swiftly ripped from his chest.

And yet, despite the old feelings rushing back to him, nothing seemed more important than finding the man.

By the time Dean reached the spot the man had been it was completely deserted. He had no idea where he could have gone without Dean seeing him… Unless he had disappeared behind a faded door labelled 'STAFF ONLY', tempting Dean to sneak his way in. He reasoned that he still had to investigate for the vamps anyways, and therefore should check it out.

Dean wandered over to the door, glancing around quickly to make sure no-one was watching as he reached out to grab the handle. His right hand ghosted over the spot he had tucked a spare knife, and he held his breath and he swiftly knocked the door open.

The shock of seeing a simple broom cupboard nearly had Dean sprawled against the buckets scattered around the floor. He didn't think he'd ever actually opened a door to find it was_ only_ a broom cupboard. It was miraculously… Well, _normal_. And the man certainly wasn't hidden in here among the brooms and mops.

Dean took a deep, unsteady breath and stepped back, closing the door and leaning gently back against it. He closed his eyes for a second, listening to his heart pounding annoyingly hard against his chest. Sure, he had known for awhile that he was interested in other men – he liked to label himself as bisexual, because he really didn't care what the gender was so long as he liked them – but he'd never been struck by anyone quite as profoundly as he had been just then. Not even in the few relationships he'd had…

"This is ridiculous. I'm supposed to be ganking vamps, not gaping at men," Dean muttered to himself, opening his eyes again. He began to realize then just how far he'd been gone. What the hell had been in that champagne? He hadn't tasted any drugs (another one of his Dad's insistence's, so Dean didn't get killed because of something so 'humanly stupid', as John had put it) and yet he felt completely drained.

The whole vibe of the club was really starting to freak Dean out, but none of it made much sense for a vamp nest. He took another deep breath, pushing himself away from the door and heading back through the crowd towards the entrance. He glanced at the bartender as he left, a bit surprised that the man was watching him intently, but Dean pushed any worry about the club from his mind for the moment. He would have to deal with it later.

The cool air felt nice on his skin as he escaped the thick atmosphere of the club and headed over to the familiar black impala parked out front. Dean did a routine check to make sure no-one had hurt his baby before climbing in and cruising away to a nearby motel.

Even as Dean checked into his room at the motel and fell into the bed fully clothed to drift to sleep, his tired mind stayed back in the club, still lingering on the strange man with the beautiful blue eyes.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer – I don't own any of the characters, nor do I profit from this writing. It's purely for my own and other's enjoyment.**_

**Author's Note: **I've been having the urge to write a lot lately so I got this chapter finished fairly quickly. One again, thanks to anyone reading, and I always appreciate feedback.

* * *

Head pounding and throat dry, Dean woke up sometime around 8 the next morning, a stream of light blinding him through the curtains pulled haphazardly across the motel window. He let out a muffled groan, once again wondering what the hell had been in that friggen drink. Must be some sort of wonder drug 'cause he'd never heard of one small glass of bubbly alcohol making anyone this hung over.

It was uncomfortable thinking back to last night. He hadn't really accomplished much with the whole vamp situation – he'd been too busy chasing gorgeous men, apparently.

Well, that wasn't something to dwell on now.

Dean tried to stretch out a few of the kinks in his back before sitting up, scratching his neck. He was already dressed, so he managed to get out the door within ten minutes, pausing only to grab one of his fake cards to go get a coffee at some sort of café. He'd have to search other parts of town if it wasn't the club centered around the vamps. Despite moving on from the odd night he'd had, Dean made a mental note to go check out what was up with the club again before he left, just in case there were more than a few blood suckers in town.

Once Dean was in the impala guzzling down a large espresso he began to feel a bit better and found it easier to ignore the throbs at the back of his head. He turned on one of his ACDC tapes and pounded his hand on the steering wheel to the beat of _Back in Black_.

It was times like these, just alone on the road with his baby and his music that Dean felt the closest to John. He wasn't one for sentimental crap, but some times like these made it easier to relate. His dad used to do this – go out alone, not knowing where he'd end up next, dragging two kids around with him as he tried to find what killed their mother. They still had no idea what the creature had wanted, or even if it had meant to come and kill her, or if it was just chance that she happened to be in the way. It was a sore topic with Dean, one that sent one of those annoying lumps into the back of his throat, and his thoughts quickly changed back to where the vampires would be next.

Of course he would have to do rounds of all the back roads and hide-outs, and try to find something big enough for a nest and inconspicuous enough that no-one would suspect vamps living there.

After a good two hours prowling through back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and not-so-abandoned offices – who the hell hooked up in _musty offices _anyways? – Dean came across a perfect little house along the very edges of the town. It was tangled in countless plants, with a yard choked by weeds and grasses, and half hidden among a countless amount of shrubbery and trees. He probably wouldn't even have noticed it if he hadn't spilled a bit of his second coffee on his pants.

Dean tried to be quiet while he opened up the back of the impala and picked out a machete. The vamps should all be asleep this early in the day, but he didn't want to risk any of them waking up before he chopped their god-forsaken heads off.

He slowly made his way through the tangle of overgrown plants to reach the edge of the house. A musky, coppery smell wafted from inside, tinted with something sour and gag-worthy. Yeah, this was definitely the nest.

After walking the perimeter of the house, Dean got a small idea of the layout. Two doors, three windows – all boarded – and what looked like a cellar door jutting out from a cleared patch of earth. Well it was pretty clear where the main entrance was. The only issue was getting in without being noticed, then killing all the vamps before the rest of them woke up. Dean let out a small breath, tightened his grip on the machete, then bent down to gently lift open the cellar door.

Thankfully, it didn't creak. Unfortunately, the steps beneath it did. After putting a bit of his weight on the third step, a loud groan echoed through the cellar, making Dean freeze and hold his breath. He stayed there until the count of thirty, and after hearing no noises, continued down the wooden steps until he'd reached the dark cement floor. Dean didn't particularly want to use a flashlight in case he woke one of the vamps up, but he was going to trip and kill himself if he didn't.

After reluctantly clicking on the light, he examined the room he was in. Typical of a young group of vampires, blood was spattered across a couple of the walls. Dark, dusty shelves lined the sides of the room, though there wasn't much on top of them. This looked more like the entrance room than anything. The vamps were likely sleeping a few rooms in.

Dean continued quietly through the doorway, coming into some sort of living room he assumed. There was a single, ratty couch – also covered in blood, who would have guessed? – and a few piles of clothes and blankets sprawled along the ground. To the front right side of the room were some stairs leading up into the main part of the house. Dean was heading that way when a sound made him whirl around, lifting his machete.

He had almost no time to react as the vamp slashed towards him, snarling savagely. Dean was thrown backwards, banging his elbow on the wall, but he wasted no time thinking about it as he got up and leaped at the vampire. It sidestepped his machete and slashed down Dean's hurt arm, earning a grunt from him. He didn't anticipate Dean's back swing though, and within seconds the vamp's head was rolling across the floor.

Dean gasped in a few breaths as quietly as he could, glancing down at his arm with a grimace. _Shit_. The blood from the wound would definitely wake up the other vampires. He should get out now, especially cause he didn't know how many more were in there. Dean turned to head back towards the cellar steps when he came face to face with another vamp.

She would have been pretty if she wasn't covered in blood. She had black hair, curves in all the right places, and blood red eyes. She was also baring her teeth at him in a horrific scream. Dean had a feeling he just killed her mate.

"I don't suppose we can over-look this?"

She lunged at him with a snarl as an answer, intent on tearing his limbs off. Dean leaped out of the way, swinging his machete up and catching her arm. She barely flinched, sweeping her hand in a cutting motion at his chest. Dean lost the ability to breathe as something in his chest cracked and he fell against the wall, clutching his ribs with one hand. _Damn, that hurt_.

"Oh come on, he wasn't that pretty anyways. You could have done better," he wheezed, managing a small mocking smile as the she-pire lunged for his throat again. She managed to hook her claws across his chest before he swung the machete across her neck and sent her head rolling too.

Dean didn't pause this time and immediately ran for the stairs, holding his ribs again and trying to find a way to breathe without it hurting. He got up the first step before he was flung back and smacked the ground ungraciously. Stars formed over his vision and a god-awful pounding started in his head. When Dean could see again, he was looking up at the faces of four more vampires.

He was kind of fucked. He just hoped Sam would help John get through his death after going through mom.

The vamp lunged down on Dean, grinning with bloodlust as it dug its claws into his shirt and tugged Dean's body towards its waiting mouth, fangs gleaming as it went to bite into his neck-

And then there was a light. A light so bright Dean couldn't escape it even with his eyes closed. It penetrated his entire body, sweeping through his soul and cleansing him of darkness, leaving nothing behind that wasn't illuminated. It was overwhelming and sent his head spinning in several different directions without relenting. Just when it became too much, when Dean was sure he was going to pass out, the light faded.

It was both relieving having the light gone and disappointing, almost as if he wasn't whole anymore. Dean managed to crack an eye open to try and get a last glimpse of whatever the source of the light was, but all he saw before he completely blacked out was a pair of bright blue eyes and a fuzzy shadow of huge, black wings.

* * *

Dean'd never woken up with a worse headache, and that's saying something. He'd been knocked out by a number of creatures, gotten a concussion from falling off his bike, and woken up hungover countless times (not just a little bit, either; he got so completely wasted once that after he passed out, he woke up in someone's bathtub wearing nothing but a pink mini-skirt).

This time, though, it felt as if someone was literally bashing his head in with a brick. His throat was also dry, and his tongue felt like sandpaper. And then there was the same, disgusting smell clogged in his lungs as well.

God, he'd never felt so shitty. Dean groaned, blinking a few times to try and get his bearings. He remembered coming in, killing a couple vamps then getting surrounded, and- and what? A bright light, he remembered. And then eyes…

Fuck. The eyes. He remembered those eyes. Bright blue, blazing and determined, flecked around the edges and brilliantly light in the middle. Dark and weighed, but so serious and calculating at the same time. It made no sense, but either that guy from the club had somehow saved him, or he was going batshit crazy. Actually it could kinda be either of those, but Dean liked to think he couldn't be too crazy after growing up as a hunter. And he didn't believe in coincidences.

Slowly Dean sat up, his hand immediately going to his chest – only to see that his ribs were fine. Dean sucked in a breath, eyes widening in surprise. He slowly trailed his fingers over each one, pressing gingerly each time, and… Nothing?

He remembered getting hit there quite clearly. It'd hurt like a bitch.

Ok, he had to figure out what the hell was going on here. Whoever that man was, he saved Dean, so either he needed him for something or he thought he had been killed along with the vamps. Somehow, though, Dean didn't think the man was stupid enough to realize someone wasn't dead.

With another groan Dean stood up and shakily headed towards the cellar door, not bothering with the bodies of the vamps. He already knew what happened to them with only a tiny glance in their direction; they were burned completely to a crisp.

Whatever that man was, he meant business.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer – I don't own any of the characters, nor do I profit from this writing. It's purely for my own and other's enjoyment.**_

**Author's Note: **Sorry that I haven't been on much! I'm writing in all my spare time, but between juggling homework and entertaining my grandma (who is visiting for awhile, but then probably won't come back for another year, so I would like to spend as much time as I can with her) I just haven't had time. Here is the next chapter though! I always appreciate feedback.

* * *

Somehow the club didn't feel quite so welcoming the second time entering. Dean barely paused before heading straight towards the bar, pushing his way past writhing, intoxicated bodies.

The man at the bar turned to him almost immediately upon his arrival at the table. He looked exactly like Dean remembered, down to the black flannel t-shirt that hung off his shoulders and the slicked back hair. His eyes slid up and down Dean's body as if contemplating his existence, before he frowned slightly and let out a sigh.

"Oh, dear. I suppose we could use some privacy?" the man looked more weary than worried. Dean opened his mouth to say something, though he was left holding it slightly agape without anything coming out. He knew something was up here, but he didn't think he would get it out of the man so easily. What was he supposed to say?

"Very well. Everyone out."

The man hadn't raised his voice, turned off the music, pressed a button, _anything_- but all the people stopped dancing very suddenly, and blank expressions wandered over each face. Slowly they turned as a unit and started towards the door, leaving the building in an orderly fashion.

"What the hell," Dean muttered, watching with wide eyes. He'd never heard of a creature being able to do _that_ before…

"There. No-one's around. What do you want, you big, sexy hunter, you?"

Dean turned back to the man incredulously. He was leaning over the counter, grinning like the freaking Cheshire cat. There was something very off-putting about his lazy expression, as if he didn't think Dean could do anything to him.

"Not your type? No, I didn't think so. I'm more into long hair anyways," the man continued, shifting his weight back away from the counter to sit on a stool Dean could swear hadn't been there a minute ago.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded, instinctively moving his right hand to rest on the hilt of the gun he had tucked in his pants. "What the hell are you doing to those people?"

"My name is Gabriel," he introduced himself, still with a smirk splayed across his lips. His eyes glinted almost dangerously, Dean noticed, whenever a stray light flashed across them. They were the colour of liquid honey, mixed with deep auburn under-tones. "And as for the people? I haven't done anything to them- harmful, at least. They all feel quite happy, as I'm sure you will remember, and tend to become complacent enough for me to give simple orders to."

Dean tried to process the who, what's, why's and how's of the situation, struggling mostly with how this creature had done it. Clearly he wasn't human, even if he looked mostly normal.

"Ok, when are we going to get to the interesting questions, sunshine? I do have a club to run. I'm going to guess you want to know about my brother?"

Dean grit his teeth, slightly annoyed with Gabriel's attitude (and maybe a bit worried about what he was capable of). "That depends who your brother is," Dean growled, still trying to decide whether or not the man's intentions were foul. There was a large part of him that wanted to shoot Gabriel just to see what happened.

"He helped you with the whole mosquito problem earlier?" Gabriel supplied, hooking his two pointer fingers near his bottom lips to create fangs. His eyes flickered with mirth as Dean scowled, leaning over the bar in one fluid motion to grab the man's shirt. Dean pulled him close and said, very seriously, "If you don't tell me what you are, and what you want with these people, I'm going to shoot you in the kneecaps."

Gabriel actually laughed. "That wouldn't help you much, would it?"

Dean let out a frustrated breath and his arm twitched as if he was going to punch Gabriel in the face, but a voice cut across them both, startling him into dropping the other man's shirt.

"Please let go of my brother."

Dean whirled around, a lump forming in his throat at the sight of the man he'd spotted at the club, and later with the vampires. His voice alone sent chills down Dean's back, the deep tones vibrating through his eardrums in the most satisfying way, as if every word was a drop of water to a man who hadn't had a drink in years.

He wasn't any taller than Dean, but the way he held himself – stiff and purposeful – gave an immediate impression of power. The same long, tan coat hung off the man, framing a relatively thin but toned body, with well built shoulders supporting the delicately curved collarbones just under the man's neck.

And his face was… Beautiful. A strong jaw line led into pronounced cheekbones and a smooth forehead. Black hair flicked up over that, arranged in a short but messy mop, somehow falling perfectly despite the appearance of disarray. And then the _eyes_. Dean hadn't forgotten a single detail about those. Almond shaped and slightly hooded, they pierced into his deepest thoughts, and narrowed once they met Dean's. The brilliant blue nearly blinded him.

"I knew it," Gabriel sighed from somewhere behind Dean, snapping him out of the stupor. He blinked a few times, mentally yelling at his heart to calm the fuck down. It wasn't like he could hook up with whatever the hell these two were, anyways. He'd probably have to kill them by the time the night was done.

Still, that didn't stop the flutters Dean got in his stomach when he realized the blue-eyed man was still staring at him.

"Oh for the love of- Can you two stop making doe-eyes at each other and get on with the confrontation?" Gabriel sighed, and the clinking of glasses made Dean turn to see what he was doing. Gabriel had pulled out a glass of champagne and promptly poured himself a large amount. The scent of the drink had Dean's head spinning, but there was no way in hell he was going near that again.

"Any ale for you, Cassy?"

"Gabriel, now is not a time for your alcoholic cravings," 'Cassy' said, his voice still holding a serious tone, much different from his brothers. In fact, the two were so completely different, Dean began to doubt whether it was even a blood relation.

"No fun without a bit of a buzz," Gabriel shrugged, sipping at the golden drink.

The blue-eyed man ignored him, turning again to Dean. "I did not hurt you along with the vampires, did I?" he asked seriously. Dean found it hard to form any coherent sentence.

Eventually he got out, "No, unless you count a killer headache."

"I am sorry," the man sounded sincere. Dean simply blinked at him, mostly just confused now with these two. He figured they would have tried killed him by now if they wanted to. Then again, he hadn't killed them yet either, and he wouldn't exactly say he didn't want to.

"His name is Castiel," Gabriel cut across Dean's thoughts suddenly, his voice oddly lighter. "Bit of an angel, isn't he?"

Castiel's blazing eyes turned to glare at his brother, and Dean was once again taken aback by Gabriel. The wording unnerved him, flashing him back to last night when he swore he saw the outline of great black wings behind Castiel. Though, of course he knew there was no such thing. In a world full of destruction, there was no place for a being of hope.

That name, though… It was kind of fit for an angel. Different, but Dean wanted to say it out loud, to roll it around his tongue until it was as familiar to him as one of his ACDC tapes. The amount of attraction he felt to whatever this man was probably wasn't healthy. He really had to snap out of it.

"What do you want, Dean?" Castiel asked, deciding to further ignore his brother. "We have done no wrong, and while the drinks my brother hands out are more potent than the humans expect, it does not harm them in any way. There is no need for you to be concerned about us."

Dean snorted. "I have no idea what you two are, what the hell you are putting in those drinks, or how you managed to fry up vamps extra crispy. There is no way I can let you two hang around to do God know's what else!"

Gabriel let out a 'tsk', actually rolling his eyes. Dean's scowl only deepened.

"We cannot tell you what we are, but we have harmed no-one, excluding creatures that were trying to kill you. You owe me a life debt." Castiel said, and damn if Dean had heard something quite as beautiful as that killer voice – especially when it was directed towards him.

"We're actually on your side, believe it or not," Gabriel pitched in, re-filling his glass. "Though you can shoot us if it would make you feel better. I'm afraid it won't do much."

Ok, so Dean probably couldn't kill them if he couldn't shoot them. They weren't vamps, so something told him chopping off their heads probably wouldn't work well either. He couldn't exactly stay there by himself and try to kill them both without getting murdered anyways.

Dean's mind gradually formulated the only possible way to approach this, and it certainly wasn't by himself. "Ok," he said slowly, glancing from one of the brothers to the next. "As long as you don't hurt anyone…"

Neither of the men offered any words, instead watching him silently come to a decision.

"I'm going to go then," Dean coughed, backing away from the two, slightly unwilling to turn his back on them. Eventually he had to, and hurried towards the door before they had time to catch up.

"We won't hurt anyone, Dean. Not after spending this long protecting them," Castiel said quietly after him, causing him to pause before pushing the door open and leaving the warm atmosphere of the club.

It wasn't until Dean had gotten back in the impala and driven halfway to his hotel that he realized he'd never told the blue-eyed man his name.


	5. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer – I don't own any of the characters, nor do I profit from this writing. It's purely for my own and other's enjoyment.**_

**Author's Note: **I am so sorry this took so long! Life has been pretty hectic lately, and I've had difficulty balancing all the different fanfics I have going. Feel free to bug me to write more ok? It motivates me. I feel awful whenever I leave them so long. Anyywaayyys, hope you all enjoy the chapter! I love any sort of review, including criticism, as long as it's constructive. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Sometime that night, a loud '_crack!_' woke Dean from his sleep. For a second he lay still, disoriented, and then he came to realize he wasn't alone in his hotel room.

With one swift movement he was on his feet, grappling for the gun beneath his pillow, before something swung at his wrist and swiftly snapped it out of place. A sharp sting of pain blinded Dean for a minute, and excruciating pain radiated up his arm, before he caught enough sense to duck out of range of whatever the hell was in his hotel room.

He was still unexplainably exhausted from the encounter with the two brothers from the club. The entire ride home he'd been on edge, wondering what the hell we was going to do about them. He'd decided he was going to have to ask Bobby to look into them, and see if he'd ever heard of such things, 'cause Dean sure hadn't. He began to mull over the possibility that it was one of _them_ in his room.

Pure instinct took over as Dean leaped and dodged through the small space, avoiding whatever it was that was after him. It was shorter than he was, and felt as if it were covered in flesh. If the thing had eyes, though, they were dark enough not to appear at all in the pitch black. At least that meant it probably wasn't the brothers from the club (the relief that thought brought on was far too great for him to feel comfortable with).

Shuffles and creaks were the only warnings Dean got as nails suddenly scraped his face – very human feeling nails – and grabbed at his clothes, tearing him around in an arc through the air with enough strength to send him out the window.

For the life of him, he couldn't decide what this thing was. As he was released and slammed against the side wall, he could only think that it must be another creature he'd never faced before – and that scared the shit out of him.

Dean could remember, ever since he was seven, Dad insisting he learn everything about monsters. Habitats, abilities, names, what killed them best, what repelled them, even what they smelled like. John insisted every little detail could save his life. And generally, his father had been right. When Dean had been faced with his first solo mission, around age fifteen, he hadn't actually meant to run into the creature. It had attacked him in the back alley of an old butcher shop and took him by surprise. He probably would have died if he hadn't had a silver knife with him at the time (silver and salt were a must whenever he was out by himself – John told him that those two things would save his life more often than not).

But, without knowing what was even attacking him, how was Dean supposed to fight back?

He scrambled towards the bed, blocking a well aimed blow at his head with his good wrist before falling to the floor and desperately feeling around for the knife he kept there. He had all of thirty seconds before the thing was on him again, tearing him back from his bags and towards the middle of the living room.

The only thing Dean had managed to grab was the small container of salt. He figured it couldn't hurt, and unscrewed the cap to toss the little white grains at the creature gripping his jacket.

Angry hisses of pain came from behind him, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief that at least he'd grabbed a useful weapon.

He slowly stood and faced the place the hisses had last echoed from. The creature was breathing deeply; with each ragged breath it drew in, another shiver crawled up Dean's back. His mind considered a few more possibilities it could be – maybe a ghost, possessing someone? Though he'd never experienced one with this strength – but before he could formulate any more, a light laugh came from the creature.

It was oddly… Feminine.

"Dean Winchester. You don't know how long I've been waiting to see you."

It was definitely a woman. Dean's grip on the salt tightened as he stared at the corner that the voice was coming from. He was slightly surprised; the fierce, raw power that had come from the creature had led him to think it was a small guy, but he supposed he should know better by now. Damn supernatural shit, always crossing human lines.

"You haven't really seen me, have you?" Dean managed a mocking laugh, referring to the dark state of his motel room.

The woman, whatever she was, let out something that could only be described as a purr.

"Oh, I know how anxious you must be to see me. You have no idea what I am, do you? But you hunters are always the same – so close minded, never seeing what's right in front of them. We've gotten away with so much…"

Dean swallowed thickly as the voice slowly traveled in a line, back and forth in front of him, as if the creature were a lioness sizing up her prey. He thought she might as well be. He was only safe as long as the salt lasted, and even then it would not kill whatever the hell she was.

"Listen sister, I don't know who you are, or what you are, but if you know what's good for you, you'll leave."

Dean knew the threat was flat, but he wasn't sure what else he could do at the moment. His heart was hammering uncomfortably in his chest, thickening the roar of blood in his ears. He couldn't make out the she-creature's features in the darkness, and therefore had no idea where she was going to pop up next.

Somewhere off to his left, the woman giggled. It was a highly unpleasant, short noise that sounded more menacing than amused. Dean whipped around to face her, ready with the salt again, though he suspected she would continue moving to confused him.

Sure enough, the next sound was back closer to where she had been before.

"Oh dear, you really are hopeless. I thought Azazel was at least sending me a challenge. You're hardly more intimidating than the wrestler I had last night."

"That's hardly fair when you haven't seen me in the light," Dean quipped, focusing on keeping her talking. It was the only way he could partially keep track of her movements.

"I don't need light to see," was the soft reply, almost directly behind Dean. He swung around in surprise, throwing more salt. Hisses burst out from right in front of him, but apparently the woman wasn't going to take it as an excuse to let him go, because her hands snatched his shirt, shoved him down onto the floor, then ripped the rest of the salt from him.

Dean had been pinned down more than a couple times in his life, both in two very different situations, but rarely did he ever feel weighed to the floor.

"You gotta lose some weight," he grunted as the creature's cold hands pinned his arms to the ground with her own delicate fingers.

"That isn't very nice," she whispered back, bending low over him to graze her teeth along his collar bone. Dean could feel them piercing his skin, enough to allow a small bead of blood to gather there. He shifted, trying to move further away, but remained helpless beneath her.

"I'm really going to enjoy playing with you," she growled, moving one knee to pin his left arm as her hand moved up towards his chest, pausing somewhere in the middle to dig in uncomfortably. "Azazel just wants you _alive_. He won't mind if you're a little broken."

"Who the hell is Azazel?" Dean demanded, gritting his teeth at the new pains the woman was inflicting along his body. It didn't help that his wrist was still throbbing, either.

"You'll meet him soon… ish," she replied idly, bring her hand back to Dean's neck. Her nails continued scraping into his skin occasionally, leaving surprise wounds behind.

"You sadistic bitch," Dean finally snarled, trying to push the she-thing off again, but having no more luck than before.

"Now now, I think I might have to teach you some manners," hot breath grazed past Dean's nose. He felt bile rise up his throat, and fought the urge to gag; It was the stench of gore and smoke, mingled with decay.

"If you don't get off me right now-," Dean started, shifting again, though he never got to finish his threat because suddenly a blinding light illuminated the darkness around them.

Dean caught his first glimpse of the creature, and was surprised to see she looked exactly like any other woman – short and thin, with a tangle of blonde hair and average clothes. The only thing out of the ordinary was the deep, black coals that had replaced her eyes. For a second they bore into Dean's, lighting a new flare of fear in his chest, before she was ripped away. Dean scrambled to his feet as quick as possible, disoriented still by the flashes of colour lighting up the backs of his eyelids from the previous bright light. He dove immediately for his gun – the one with the salt filled caps – and turned to aim at the creature.

He probably shouldn't have been surprised by what he saw, but the scene in front of him still sent Dean's heart pounding. There was Castiel, blue eyes ablaze with something akin to fury, except somehow much worse. There was something in his movements, a fierce, broken feeling, that suggested Castiel didn't care how hurt he got. For that second, the mysterious, dark man in the trenchcoat scared Dean a lot more than the woman with black eyes.

The two opposite sides fought for a minute, illuminated only by the light Dean could now see was coming from Castiel. It wasn't long before they both abruptly halted, however, and the creature let out a cry of horror or disbelief, he couldn't tell – and, sure enough, a silver stake was protruding from her chest. Light burst from inside her, and Dean could practically feel the heat as her eyes burned, illuminated for a second before she collapsed to the ground in an ugly, gaping heap.

Dean wasn't exactly sure what to do. He watched Castiel cautiously, unsure whether to expect an attack. It didn't seem like he would – he looked more defeated than victorious.

"Who are you, really?" Dean finally asked, his voice hoarse. "What are you? What was she? And what do you all want with me?"

Castiel let out a sigh, though he didn't answer. Instead he bent down to gingerly pull the silver stake from the woman's chest and murmured something that sounded a lot like a short prayer. Eventually he stood again, turning back towards Dean.

"You need to understand something very important," Castiel finally said, blue eyes flicking up to meet Dean's. They were not filled with the same fury and hatred that had bore down on their enemy before, but rather were open and pleading. Dean suddenly found he couldn't breathe properly again.

"There are more creatures in the world than you and your father have hunted," Castiel continued, taking a step forward. Dean jerked back slightly, raising the gun he only just remembered he was holding.

"What do you mean?" he demanded. Dean's father knew every goddamned monster, and he had been sure to drill that into Dean's head as well.

"What you just fought… It wasn't just one of Lilith's children. It was a shadowed soul, burdened by the darkness of Lucifer."

Castiel took another step closer, measuring the effect his words had. Dean suddenly felt horribly numb.

"It was a demon."


	6. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer – I don't own any of the characters, nor do I profit from this writing. It's purely for my own and other's enjoyment.**_

**Author's Note:** Finally got this done! Enjoy :)

* * *

Demons were real – real as a vampire, or a werewolf. Not once had Dean ever stopped to consider that Satan was real, or that tortured souls could walk the Earth. In a place full of horror stories, demons had been just those; stories that he had taken comfort in not being true. They had been the one type of monsters his father had told him were completely made up, and now… He shouldn't have been foolish enough to believe they were impossible.

"Demons have been roaming your Earth for a very long time. For the most part, they have gotten very good at hiding themselves. They take a host body and use these to walk around the Earth on," Castiel was explaining. Dean was grateful that at least he wasn't pulling that sympathetic, take-it-easy crap on him. However, he couldn't stop the racing of his heart, and the sudden, unwilling fear that flared there.

"Regular weapons cannot kill demons of any power. As you've seen, salt burns them. A demon cannot cross a salt line. There are also devil traps that are impossible for the demon to leave if you trick one into it. Iron or holy water will burn them as well."

"Demons – do they leave sulfur?" Dean asked hoarsely, praying just this once he was definitely wrong.

Castiel's solemn look told him all he needed to know. Within seconds, Dean was tearing into the bags under his bed, rummaging in every pocket to get the phone with his dad's emergency number on it. It would be easier if his god damned _hands_ would stop _shaking_-

Dean finally pulled the stupid thing out and held down speed-dial, listening with baited breath as the phone continued to ring. No-one answered.

"Damnit, answer the _god-damned phone!_" Dean snarled into the receiver, hands still shaking. He sat down roughly on the bed, sinking his head into his hands.

_ "It didn't even flinch when it was shot," John explained, stuffing another gun into his bag. Dean stood in the doorway of the motel room, mouth turned down in a grim line. "We think it might be an old spirit. There was nothing odd left there, aside from some sulfur. It had to be pretty strong to take out Rufus."_

_"Shouldn't you have back-up for this one?" Dean asked, but was shot a 'don't be ridiculous' look the moment the words left his mouth._

_"I'll be fine by myself. You're needed here, to keep saving more lives, not go on some wild goose chase. I'll find some other hunters in the area," John zipped his bag up, grabbing the one with his clothes and heading past Dean into the motel hall way. He paused, turning back to give Dean a brief smile._

_"You can keep the impala. I'll find a different car."_

_Dean swallowed, wanting to protest against John leaving him alone again, but managed a smile in return. He did love his baby._

_"Ok, dad," he muttered, and John reached out to pat him once on the shoulder before disappearing to go find whatever creature had been terrorizing people._

"I need to go find him. He has no idea," Dean muttered into his hands, mind racing. After another moment he was on his feet again, violently grabbing different bags and shoving his meager amount of possessions back into them.

"Dean, what are you doing?" he'd nearly forgotten about Castiel. He might have jumped if adrenalin wasn't already coursing through his veins.

"I need to find my dad. He has no idea that there are demons out there, and he's looking for one right now," Dean's voice came out gruff and strained even to his ears. He pulled open a drawer and snatched all his clothes out, stuffing them in one of his bags.

"You can't leave," Castiel's surprised voice followed Dean into the bathroom as he went to grab his toothbrush, razor, and deodorant.

Dean let out a humorless chuckle. "You fucking watch me, Cas."

The man did watch silently for a minute as Dean dug out the rest of his stuff from under the bed, piling it together messily and briefly making sure he had everything – guns, fake IDs, oil for his baby…

"You do not understand. The demon – she mentioned Azazel."

Dean finally glanced up at Castiel, recognizing the change in voice. Castiel's eyes pierced his, flickers of different emotions soaring through them. Guilt, fear, determination, regret, bitterness… It was enough to halt Dean's packing for a moment.

"So?"

"She said Azazel wanted you."

"Doesn't matter. I don't care who wants me, I have to go help my dad. He's my family, damnit," Dean glared back at the blue eyes a second more before snatching all his bags and heading for the motel door. He couldn't afford to wait any longer – he had to get out right away and start looking for John.

Castiel didn't follow him out of the room, so Dean paid for his visit and went straight for the impala, throwing his stuff in the back before climbing into the driver's seat. When he reached into his pocket for his keys – that he had _just used_ to open his baby – they were gone.

"What the hell," he muttered, searching around the bottom of the car, before a small noise from behind him caused Dean to glance in his rear-view mirror and nearly leap through the roof of his car.

"What the hell, Cas, how did you even get in here!?" he shouted, one hand clutching his chest.

"That is the second time you called me Cas," the man mused, eyebrows pulled down.

Dean blinked at him in disbelief. "Is that seriously the only thing you have to say after you break into my car? Get out! Now!"

"Dean, you will not find your keys," was Castiel's quiet reply. As a second thought, he added, "I've hidden them in the Himalayas."

Dean turned slowly to face the man in the back of his car. The strange man that was definitely not a man, who had saved his life a hell of a lot, but who also managed to throw him off every time he thought he'd figured something out. The not-really-a-man who was incredibly sexy, and just as infuriating.

"Do you want to tell me why the fuck you have my keys?" Dean tried to ask calmly, but he seriously thought he was going to jump in the back of his car and slap that arrogant ass in the face. Or ravage it. He couldn't decide which emotion won out.

Not that that was important right now – _he had to find John. _He could worry about his feelings later.

"You can't leave, Dean. It isn't safe," Castiel stressed, running one hand down his face.

"Give me back my keys."

"No, you don't understand what you are dealing with-"

"Give me my keys right now."

"He'll have you gutted an hour you're out of town, Dean, you really can't-"

"Now, Castiel, or god help me I will break every gorgeous bone in your body," Dean snarled. Castiel blinked in surprise, though he couldn't tell whether it was from the threat or the hidden compliment. At the moment he didn't really care.

After a moment staring into the man's eyes, they blinked slowly, and a look of regret passed briefly over Castiel's face. Dean realized what was going to happen only a moment before it did. He had less than a second to make a sound of protest before the man was lightly touching his forehead and a dizzy, sleepy sensation overwhelmed him.

The last thing Dean heard was a gentle, "I am sorry," before he fell into a warm embrace and slept peacefully.

* * *

'Pissed' probably wasn't a strong enough word.

Dean woke up in a strange room, with strange smelling sheets, and strange designs on the walls. There was a single, small window – too small for him to crawl out of – and a wooden door that, if Dean had to guess, would be locked.

He'd woken up feeling surprisingly well rested, but any relief at getting a decent amount of sleep was quickly chased away by the awareness of being trapped. How _dare_ Castiel stick him in here? Dean threw himself out of bed – he was even wearing different clothes, damnit – and walked immediately to the door. It was, in fact, locked.

"Cas, get your pathetic ass down here and let me out right now!" Dean yelled as he banged on the door. Of course, there was no sign of anyone answering.

Dean continued to bang and yell to no avail. Eventually he even tried breaking the door down with his shoulder, but soon found out this was definitely not regular wood, and each time he shoved himself against it there was no bend, and therefore certainly wasn't about to break.

Forty minutes later, bruised and sweating, Dean had to give up. With a garbled sort of choked breath, he went to sit down on the nice bed in the room, wanting nothing more than to set it on fire. How could they just stick him in here? He needed to find his dad. He at least needed his phone, god damnit._ He wanted out_.

Suddenly, the door clicked open. Dean was on his feet in a second, heading quickly for the exit, but was halted by the '_tsk, tsk_' of Gabriel, who was holding out two fingers quite similarly to how Cas had held them out the night before. Dean halted warily, clenching his fists.

"Hold on a second, Dean-O. I know you wanna go off running around hunting demons, but we need you to stay here with us. Before you say anything," he added, holding a hand up once Dean opened his mouth to yell, "You need to know we are hunting Azazel. We know how strong he is. And you are going to be no use to your dad dead, are you?"

Dean let the words think in. The bubbling rage in his chest settled a tiny bit, and a small part of his brain admitted that was true.

"Then what the hell do you suggest I do?" Dean asked, trying not to grind his teeth together in frustration.

"I suggest you stay here and help Cassy and I work on this little case. You can help us track him down and – how do you hunters put it? 'Gank' him? Elegant speakers, you hunters – before helping us lure him out of his dark little demon hole so we can send him back to the ever-lasting _literal_ hell-hole."

Gabriel smirked slightly, as if remembering something funny.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a second. He didn't have much choice, did he? Especially if the brothers could knock him out with a touch of their fingers.

"That still doesn't tell me what you and Cas are," Dean finally said. "How can I trust you?"

Gabriel's smirk widened. "Let's just say, you have my word before God."

Dean frowned, unsure what to make of them. He let out a resigned sigh, though, recognizing there wasn't a lot more he could do. Leave a few messages on his dad's phone, obviously. And at least this way he could figure out how to kill demons.

"Ok," Dean finally said, wringing his hands together and looking up with a mocking sort of smile. "Let's go find this bastard."


	7. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer – I don't own any of the characters, nor do I profit from this writing. It's purely for my own and other's enjoyment.**_

**Author's Note: **I haven't updated in forever, so I made an extra long chapter! Enjoy :)

* * *

It turns out, the two brothers had been keeping Dean in a spare bedroom under the night club Gabriel ran. Apparently they lived down there, too. It was a lot bigger than Dean had thought, and even extended down a few levels. When Dean asked why, Gabriel simply shrugged and told him that's where they'd always lived.

The first place Gabe took him was to a room down one level, filled with shelves and filing cabinets, and three computers off to the side. It was sort of cluttered in most places, though looked as if once it used to be tidy.

"This is where you do your research, huh?" he asked, walking over to examine one of the computers. It had some sort of program running out weather reports.

"This is where you will be helping us do research," Gabriel corrected as he grinned, flopping down into one of the other chairs. He switched on the computer next to the weather one, immediately opening up to a document written in something Dean couldn't identify. Apparently Gabriel could read it just fine, because after scanning the text for a few seconds, he let out a small 'hmm' and closed it.

"Right. And what exactly are you doing? How do you track down a-," Dean's voice caught slightly, "Demon?"

It was still kind of a hard concept to accept.

"Hold on a sec, Dean-o. Important business to take care of. Cassy will be down in a minute, he'll explain it all," Gabriel yawned as he stood, stretching his arms lazily. Dean's eyes darkened slightly at the mention of Castiel, and Gabriel seemed to notice it.

"Oh, don't mope. You know he did it for your 'well being' or whatever. Ugh, you two are disgusting," the last part came out quieter, and Dean scowled. What was _that_ supposed to mean?

"He could have talked to me instead of knocking me out!"

"I'm sorry, Dean. In my defense, you weren't listening to anything I was saying."

The familiar voice caused Dean to whirl around, only to see Cas standing in the doorway. He was still in his apparently constant get-up of a suit and trenchcoat. On anyone else, Dean would say it looked tacky, but something about the way the coat hung off Cas's delicate shoulders was tantalizing.

Did he seriously just think that? God, he _really_ had to get over his stupid attraction to this guy. Castiel had basically kidnapped him – using some crazy, admittedly creepy powers that Dean still wasn't sure how he'd gotten – and locked him away like fucking _Cinderella_.

But those eyes… Dean was really far gone. He despised himself for it. How the hell could he still find him hot? How could his mind conjure up images of slowly pulling away that stupid tenchcoat, or pressing the other man up against a wall, or- Ok, no, thought trail stopping _there_. It was borderline obsession.

Making a conscious effort to ignore those feelings, Dean let out a derisive snort.

"Oh, he isn't listening, better knock him out and lock him up in my basement," he growled sarcastically. Gabriel let out a laugh, but shut up once Cas turned his glare on his brother.

"Right, right, I'm going. You two work out your little issues, ok?" Gabriel sniggered, sauntering out the door and letting it slam behind him.

Cas let out a sigh, stiffly walked over to sit in the chair furthest from Dean, and leaned back against it as if he were exhausted. The circles under his eyes certainly didn't help. His movements seemed weary, like he had been dragging more weight than he could carry. And damn, did Dean know what that felt like. He felt a tiny flash of sympathy, though not enough to completely rid him of anger. It would take a bit more than that.

"I am sorry, Dean," Cas eventually sighed, gaze flicking up to meet Dean's. Seriously, his gorgeous eyes should be illegal. Dean found he couldn't breathe as he lost himself in the deep, hardened, blue pools. His anger suddenly disappeared a lot faster, and was replaced by a different sort of burning in his chest, one that he had to violently shove away again.

"Whatever, Cas, it's not that big of a deal," he finally sighed, dragging his gaze away. "Let's just work on finding Azazel, ok?"

"You call me Cas," was the other man's reply.

Dean felt a slight blush rise up his cheeks, and internally snarled at it to go away. "Well, yeah, Castiel is a bit of a mouthful, so I thought I'd call you that instead. Is that… Ok?" he almost winced at the explanation. To be honest, the nickname had just sorta come to him.

"Yes, I… I don't mind. It is much better than Cassy."

Dean chuckled, glancing back at Cas, who – Dean didn't even know he was capable of it – had a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips. They stared at each other for a moment, before Dean cleared his voice and gestured at the computer.

"Right, we should, uh, get researching, I guess," he suggested. Cas blinked once, slowly, before nodding in agreement and turning to his own screen.

"Yes. The quicker we catch Azazel, the better for everyone."

* * *

For the next two weeks, Dean spent all his waking time helping the brothers search for their demon. They had a lot of interesting technology (most of which, Dean was positive wasn't legal in the United States), but even then they didn't catch a lot of leads.

For the first week the brother's didn't even let Dean go out and help with the few leads they did find. It caused quite the fight between the three of them, which ended in several thrown punches and Dean nearly being knocked out again. Eventually he convinced them he wasn't going to leave, and Castiel agreed he could go, as long as one of them went with him.

Dean was still pissy about it for another two days, but eventually got over it when Cas had walked in the next day without his trenchcoat. He'd been stunned by the attractive hug of the flannel shirt the other man wore. And, though Cas raved about Gabriel stealing his stuff the whole time they worked, Dean quite enjoyed himself. He found he didn't even mind at all.

Still, questions of what the two brothers were nagged at the back of Dean's mind, so he decided to sneak into the computer room one night to do a little extra research of his own. He sat in the dark room alone, alert to any sound outside, in case Gabe or Cas walked in on him. He didn't have a whole lot to go on so he started with the basics – their names. There really wasn't a whole lot. He learned they were religious names of angels, and then had to look deeper into religious history.

The possibility of them actually being the angels crossed Dean's mind, but didn't last long upon further inspection. He really doubted Gabriel, who owned a club and was fond of popping candy when he thought no-one was looking, could be capable of otherworldly duties, let alone be an archangel. Maybe Cas seemed a little more heavenly, but then again, Dean was finding that most things the other man did seemed heavenly to him. However, believing in angels would also mean believing in God, and Dean didn't think either was possible. He'd learned every single time something may seem better, it would always be worse. No reason for that to change now.

So, more likely, they were some sort of creature into hunting demons for some reason, and named themselves after heavenly figures. Maybe they had a whole cult going on, who knew – "Heavenly Deities Brewing Champagne and Demon Hunting since '87!"

Dean stayed up for a long time that night, trying to find anything illuminating, but nothing added up anywhere. He even did look deeper into the angels bit – he had to check out everything, even the improbable – but nothing there related to the brothers, either. Neither of them fit the description of 'beings of pure light, draped in the finest silk cloth, with two wings resting on their back' (though the mental image of Gabriel in a toga did have Dean sniggering to himself).

Eventually he gave up, and decided he'd have to keep pestering them about it if he wanted any answers.

* * *

Within the next three days, a new lead finally popped up, and Castiel reluctantly allowed Dean to come with him on this one. They'd pinpointed some odd activity going on in a shop nearby and decided to check out if it was the work of demons, or just some really friggin' weird people.

Originally, Cas refused to let Dean come – "Azazel's looking for _you_, Dean, what do you think he's going to do if he gets you?" – but Dean's argument was too well fought, to the point even Gabriel had to agree with it.

"If he's looking for me, he'll probably make sure the demons know who I am, or even show himself," Dean pointed out. Gabriel had nodded his head in agreement, and despite Cas's moping, they came to an agreement – Dean could come if Castiel went with him.

And that was how the two ended up outside a taxidermy shop on Friday night, just after closing hours. It was creepy enough on the outside alone, almost to the point of being too obvious.

"What, a bright neon sign screaming 'this is where demon's live!' wasn't good enough for them?" Dean muttered, his left hand resting on the base of the gun he had tucked into his belt.

Cas glanced over at him, either not catching the humor, or too into his serious mode to appreciate it. "This could very easily be a trap, Dean," he said in his deep, gravelly undertone (that still sent chills up Dean's spine).

"Great. Let's go say hello, then," Dean huffed, a little tiredly, as he walked up to knock on the door.

For a moment, there was only silence, and then the lock on the door clicked. A gruff, older looking guy swung the door out a few inches and peered through the crack.

"Can't yeh read?" he growled out. "We're closed."

Dean straightened slightly, giving the man his widest smile. "Yes, sorry to bother you. It's just, I saw that piece of work in your window, and I couldn't help admiring the finery of it."

Well, that was a blatant lie. The taxidermy was not by any standards the best Dean'd seen, especially not with those creepy plastic eyes jutting out further than they should be. He'd become an incredibly liar.

Without missing a beat, he continued, "I'd be willing to pay a hefty sum of money if you have something I'm looking for."

The man looked him up and down, slowly, then over at Castiel as well. Something like greed glinted in his eyes, and he slowly let the door swing all the way open.

"I guess I can make one exception for yeh," he said slowly.

"Great, thank you," Dean smiled as he stepped into the store, despite the morbid feeling. The guy was just a tad taller than him, and had messy grey hair and a beard to match. He was wearing ripped jeans and several layers of tops, all neutral colours or plaid. Basically how someone would expect an old taxidermy creator to look.

"What exactly are you looking for?" the man asked gruffly as Dean and Cas filed in. His dark haired companion hadn't said a word so far, and instead was staring intently around the shop, apparently looking for something. Dean was just trying to keep the owner preoccupied.

He began walking around the perimeter of the shop, pretending to admire different pieces of stuffed animal. Somehow, this guy had made every single piece look warped and unnatural. Even the small squirrel that glared down at him with beady eyes and bared teeth looked evil. It was really off-putting.

"I think maybe I like this one," Dean eventually said, bending down to examine a moose head, before turning and realizing he should have payed more attention to the store keeper.

The old man had a fist in Castiel's hair, and a knife sitting at his throat. Behind him, another older lady had appeared, along with a dark skinned younger guy. All of them had coal black eyes.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to push down his sudden fear.

"If you don't want your friend to die, I suggest you hand over the gun under your coat," the lady spoke calmly, but her voice was cold. Dean kept his eyes on Cas, who looked oddly calm for his position.

"Now," the old man demanded, and pressed the knife a little closer to his friend's throat.

"Ok, ok! Here," Dean swiftly grabbed the gun and set it down on the ground, holding his hands up next to his head in a motion of surrender. His heart was beating quickly in his chest, but his voice came out oddly calm.

"Now turn around," the lady demanded. Dean's eyes flicked to Cas's, widening slightly. Cas stared back, his deep blue eyes still holding a calming light. Very slowly, he nodded.

Dean swallowed thickly and did what they asked, slowly turning so he couldn't see what was happening. He could hear one of them approaching him, though, and anticipated the voice behind him.

"I hope you've been a good man," the demon growled at him, and did something Dean hadn't expect at all. An agonizing pain dug into the left side of his back, and a scream was drawn from his lips as the demon twisted it, until stars flew before Dean's eyes and he felt himself falling steadily into darkness.

The last thing he heard before he was lost to the darkness was Cas screaming his name.


End file.
